


NEVER ENOUGH

by Zzzara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Aftercare, Anal, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bathing/Washing, Bathtub Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bonding, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Bruises, Bubble Bath, Butt Slapping, Cock Rings, Comfort Sex, Comfort/Angst, Consensual Violence, Consent, Control, Creature Blaise Zabini, Dom Draco Malfoy, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Drarry, Edging, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Porn, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional Sex, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Color, Eye Contact, Face Slapping, Feelings, Feels, First Time Blow Jobs, Fucked Up, Gay Sex, Gloves, Hand Jobs, Healing Sex, Heavy Angst, Ice Play, Ignored Safeword, Jealousy, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Lies, Loss of Control, Loss of Trust, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mating Bond, Memories, Mirror Sex, Multi, Negotiations, No Aftercare, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, POV Alternating, POV Blaise Zabini, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Safeword Fail, Safeword Use, Safewords, Scars, Sex, Sex Addiction, Sex Magic, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Slapping, Smut, Soul Bond, Sub Draco Malfoy, Sub Harry Potter, Subspace, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Tie Kink, Top Blaise Zabini, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Veela Mates, Violence, Violent Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22302913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zzzara/pseuds/Zzzara
Summary: Established couple woos a third party for a one-night stand. However, it's not that simple, and nothing is what it seems.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 42
Kudos: 127
Collections: HP Triad!Fest





	NEVER ENOUGH

**Author's Note:**

> I was totally smitten with the idea of the HP Triad!Fest and instantly knew I would be writing Draco/Harry/Blaise. If I ever imagined Drarry with someone else in their relationship - it would always be Blaise, because the scorching chemistry between the three of them makes the sparks fly! 🔥
> 
> My thanks and love to my wonderful betas [CoCo(Cportera)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cportera)  
> and Chris[keyflight790](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790)  
> You were so amazing, neat and precise, and your advice made all the difference in the things that matter!  
> Thank you [tackytiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackytiger)  
> , my lovely alpha, for your great and subtle advice on form and britpicking!  
> I am so grateful to my sensitivity reader K-A C.[sarahmademedoit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahmademedoit)  
> for quick and thorough check-up for all the things concerning race and skin colour! Thank you so so much!  
> Many thanks to the mods for organising this wonderful event!
> 
> *Disclaimer: all characters belong to JK Rowling and other rightful owners.*
> 
> *The author of this work does not support J.K. Rowling's transphobic opinions.
> 
> *Don’t repost/copy this work to any other websites without my permission.
> 
> !!!WARNING: please, pay attention to the tags before reading. This story contains graphic depictions of violence, fucked up unhealthy BDSM dynamics, manipulative relationship, sexual and emotional addiction, power imbalance and tons of smut.
> 
> I regret nothing! 👌

**NEVER ENOUGH**

\- 1 -

**D.**

"Just look at him."

You know the note in his voice, don't you?

"Look... at... him." 

You don't.

You don't look at him, you look at Blaise.

His face glowing in the shimmering air of the club, Blaise is tracing his lower lip with his finger. Back and forth, back and forth... tap-tap-tap... the movement stills... then again: tap-tap-tap...

He throws you a glance, and you _know._

Time freezes for a heartbeat.

A golden gleam in his eyes sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins. Your breath quickens. Barely. It is enough.

In moments like this, you desire him more than ever.

That's probably fucked up or may be totally normal for all you know. Maybe people do it all the time. You don't know. You have only done it with Blaise.

You don't care. For those moments you live.

 _Now._ He is going to do this _thing_ when the world turns bleak against his brightness, when no one can resist. When a stranger he chooses comes willingly and begs to be taken. Pride is throbbing heavily through your whole being: _Look at him. Look at us. He is mine._

"What do you say, Draco?"

He asks - as he always does - though you both know, in this game, your answer is always _'yes'._

You don't care for a stranger, you want whomever he wants, but not really. It is Blaise you want. Always him. Only. It's this gleam in his eyes and a barely visible change in his chiselled features. His power sends your heart racing and your mind goes slack with desire.

It is all you want. It is never enough.

Slowly, you follow his gaze to finally look at the man he has chosen.

"Well?" He touches the back of your hand with his fingertips.

You stare.

 _No!_ You want to shout. 

Is this some cruel joke?

Well, it is. Knowing Blaise, it definitely is. 

"Draco?"

Unaware, the man near the dance floor is standing with his back to you. Observing the crowd, he takes a sip of his drink, swaying faintly to the music. A broad square set of his shoulders in a black T-shirt, a turn of the head, the frame of his glasses faintly reflecting the club lights. The disarray of dark hair and a large nose. From here you don't quite see his face, but you _know._ You can easily imagine how it has changed in the six years you haven't seen him. And how it has not. How it would be different and very much the same as _the last time he..._

You feel ill. The rage of jealousy and resentment takes hold.

You shrug and turn to Blaise. 

His lips curl into the faintest smile that drives you mad, holding you at his mercy, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your wrist. He is aware you have recognised the man at first sight. Of course, he is. Bastard.

"If you insist." It's a wonder your hand isn't shaking.

"Oh, _I insist."_

He slides off the barstool and... you never really know how it happens, how he does it... because it is nothing, he does nothing, he just stands there... but everything changes in a heartbeat. Heads are turning, bewildered glances of Muggles are on him, on you at his side. You sense the rush of their desire when they follow the pull. But there is fear and resentment, too. They dare not approach - they are not the ones he has chosen.

Still and slender, dark against the shimmering air, unblinking, Blaise doesn't move. A flicker of gold in his dark eyes burns brighter, takes over... and you hold your breath.

Across the club, the dark-haired man's hand with a drink stills halfway to his mouth. 

Slowly, he turns.

*

_One hour later_

Muscles ripple, straining under the smooth skin of his shoulder-blades as Blaise _moves,_ the opposite mirror wall reflecting Potter's hand stark white over Blaise's dark glistening back. He digs his fingers into his spine. Eyes closed, Blaise leans his forehead against Potter's. Their lips barely apart, they don't kiss, they _just..._

You want to scream. You want to squeeze your eyes shut and touch yourself and finally come... or join them on the bed and take Blaise's place and fuck the man into the mattress, or let him fuck you, or push into Blaise in one long smooth slide and _move_ along with him as he moves inside the man, tearing him apart with joy - as you would have surely done in any other circumstances but _this._

Instead, sipping Firewhisky, you let your jealousy take over, recline in the armchair and _stare._ Stare hard. Stare closely at Blaise's profile, his lips almost caressing Potter's, _almost..._ Stare at Potter arching beneath him, his hand relentlessly working his cock. Stare as Potter's eyes snap open, stare at how their gazes lock - green and golden - as Blaise grabs Potter's hand, pressing it into the duvet above his head, moving, _moving_ in the mellow lamplight in the mirror.

Potter cries out, crushing Blaise's fingers. They both still. Blaise _sighs_ and looks down, where Potter's cock spurts over his stomach.

 _Oh-so-gently,_ he captures Potter's lips with a quiet laugh...

You put your glass down and get on your feet. Quietly closing the bedroom door on your way out, you don't think they notice.

*

"I had no idea," Blaise said tonight, watching Potter's deliberate approach. "Potter - in a Muggle gay club?"

You drag at your cigarette, forcefully exhaling the stream of smoke in the night air and prop your elbows on the balcony railings.

You, however, had a very good idea. The vivid memory of Potter's face through the years flashes through your head. 

_"Malfoy?"_

_Drunk and bewildered, he didn't withdraw when you pulled him into a kiss. He didn't bolt when your hand slid down to touch him through his tuxedo trousers. He didn't pull away when you opened his fly. He didn't._

_"Fuck... I'm pissed." He exhaled, but still did not pull away._

_He didn't._

_Digging his fingers into your shoulders, he bit into his lip to stifle any sound as you sucked him off on your knees behind the closed door of the ballroom balcony on the Ministry function. You were drunk, too. You liked to think that was the reason why everything happened the way it did._

_This is how it had begun. Your secret fucking. Your fucking secret. Or rather his big dirty little secret that was you._

_No one ever suspected._

_Even Potter himself was unaware of your sickening possessive tendencies and sentimental pining._

_You made sure he never did._

"Draco."

Blaise’s palm at your nape makes you shiver. Closing your eyes, you lean back into his touch.

He exhales into your skin. "You smell so good."

His hand tucks your shirt out of your trousers, slipping underneath, palm caressing your stomach, up and up - up your chest - and then down again, _down..._ fingers dipping under your belt.

He is always like this. On nights like this. Leaving a stranger sated and asleep, he always comes, his hunger for you only burning brighter. 

"May I?" His whisper is hot in your ear.

 _"Yes."_

You go liquid in his arms, letting him have his way with you. As you always do. Even when you are angry, even when you are jealous, even helpless, defeated, resentful. You always do.

His fingers unbuckle your belt, pulling the fabric down, baring you to his mercy. You are hard. _Oh-so-hard._ His hand curls over your aching cock.

"May I?" He repeats. He always asks, he always does. It's just a game. You both know, permission was granted long ago. Once and for all.

You shiver. "Yes." 

Your hands grip the balcony railings as you brace yourself. The sweetest burn of his flesh joining with your body makes you cry out. And again, you arch.

 _"Draco."_

Burning inside you, he slides deeper, filling you to the brim, glowing, _glowing,_ pushing, until you are full, until you might burst, until it is too much and not enough. Never enough. This is what you live for. Finally, his chest presses flush to your back, he exhales into your nape and stills.

You are glowing. Glowing inside. "Touch me."

He does.

He takes you in his palm and holds you. You grip the railings and thrust into his fist and rock back, just to feel his maddening slide inside, all the while watching the movement of his hand on your cock.

"Why didn't you come to bed?" His lips are on your ear. He moves, sending golden sparks through your body. "I wanted you to... come..." His breath hitches. "I want you to come."

You are not nearly ready, _not nearly._ You need ages and ages of this agony. Ages. You won't let him go that easily. You won't let him go. Won't let him.

 _"Make me."_ You throw your head back to rest it on his shoulder as his palm splays over your throat.

"Oh, I will make you, will I?"

"You will."

He will. Maddeningly, he will tear you apart and bring you there. _Oh, he is bringing you there._ He is.

"Why didn't you join us?" Fingers digging into your neck, he thrusts, his other hand working your cock.

"Fuck... fuck you." You laugh hoarsely, tearing his hand away from your throat to let yourself breathe.

"Fuck _you."_ His teeth capture your earlobe, his slow thrusts driving you mad.

"Fuck _me."_ You rock your arse back to meet him. _"Fuck_ me, damn you."

"Oh, I'll fuck you, _damn you."_ He grips your hip, going faster, going rougher, sharper, stinging and burning and glowing. Always glowing. Sweet. _So sweet._ Until your cry rings into the night, tearing through the sleeping city. Let them hear, _let them._ Let the whole fucking world know how good he is making you feel.

"Come, Draco." He holds you against his chest, stroking your cock with his other hand, bringing out your release in bouts. "So sweet for me."

_Sweet._

Over and over, your body clenches and shudders and wouldn't stop, finally feeling as if it is enough. Almost. With one final gasp, you fall silent and lean back into him, faint tremors of aftershock still going through your body in the electric thrill. You know, there somewhere between the first grips of your ecstasy and the last, your eyes turned and flickered golden, only to turn back to their usual grey in a heartbeat. You saw it more than once when you two did this in front of the mirror.

Still not releasing your cock, Blaise carefully pulls out, leaving you empty and needy and sated and full. It is always like this.

You turn in his arms and catch _that_ look on his face – the one you are still unable to fathom, the one he almost never shows you and always hides. If you asked him how he feels looking at you like that – would he answer? Would he tell you the truth? Is there any truth to tell? You don't know. You never ask. The flicker is gone as soon as he meets your eyes.

"Why didn't you come to bed?" He asks again, this time without a hint of playfulness in his voice. He presses his lips to your forehead. "Why didn't you? Harry was so good... We probably should..."

 _No,_ you think. _No,_ you want to bolt out. It has never happened before, it won't happen now. Are you not enough? Why are you never enough? Your arms snake around his back.

"What if we invited him again? Sometimes. If you don't mind." Blaise raises his eyebrow.

A movement catches your eye and you glance over Blaise's shoulder to see Potter standing in the doorway, his lithe pale nakedness glowing against the darkness. How long has he been standing there?

You don't know which one of the two you are more jealous of.

Your hands lock around Blaise's naked back as you bring your lips to his, hoping all the while Potter has been standing there _long enough._ Long enough to see what matters.

You feel the golden thrum of Blaise's magic caressing your very heart, making you happy and whole and enough. _It doesn’t matter,_ you think, _he’s mine. Doesn’t matter whom he fucks._

"I don't mind," you say and watch golden sparks bloom in his dark eyes as he presses his forehead to yours.

_He is yours._

*

\- 2 -

**H.**

_...One week later..._

You see him as soon as you enter the club. The glimpse of his bright-blond head gives you a start. Having been thinking about the two of them, you're surprised to see him right away and not surprised at all. You scan the people around, expecting and afraid to see a slender dark figure by his side. Your heart speeds up, palms going clammy, you wipe them at your jeans, peering to the right and left... To your dismay, disappointment, _relief,_ Malfoy is alone.

With his back to you, he is nursing his drink at the counter. You take a breath and exhale and approach, slipping right next to him on the spare seat. 

He turns and unblinking studies you for a moment. He is not surprised.

"He's a Veela, isn't he?" You ask instead of greeting. There's no doubt who is _'He'._

He nods. "Part Veela."

"Which part?" 

"The best part, I think."

You laugh and clear your throat, the question poised on your tongue. You shouldn’t ask it, you shouldn’t. "So… you're his _mate?"_ Idiot.

He rolls his eyes. "That's not how it works."

"How does it work, then?" You ask quietly. You hear the faint tremor in your voice; surely he has noticed it, too. 

"Why do you ask?"

You don't reply, waving at the bartender instead. 

"Curious..." You finally settle on with a casual shrug, as though it could fool him.

You two sit in silence until your drink arrives.

"Hmm." He takes a sip. "It doesn't."

"What doesn't?"

You glance at him. At his sharp profile. At his blond hair, ever-changing in the merciless flashes of lights from the dance floor, turning purple-bright-blue-red-and-green-and-purple over and over. He wears it differently now. Differently than you remember. Shorter at the sides and the back of the head, longer at the top. The strands are styled to fall on one side in the artful disarray over his left eyebrow. It gives him this posh, careless, unattainable look. This gorgeous, beautiful, cruel air. The one that reminds you _again_ that you were never enough.

He lights a cigarette. "Doesn't work." He tilts his head. "This mate-thing. It doesn't exist."

"How so?" You reach out for his cigarette, but he withdraws his hand, making you grope the air, as he so often did back then... You both laugh at this glimpse from the past, though it comes out a bit hollow. Odd, you think, among everything forgotten between you two, this foolishness - his silly little gesture - is the one thing that you do remember. 

"Should've known better, Potter." He hands you the cigarette.

"How doesn't it exist?" You refuse to change the subject. "It's common knowledge... Veelas and their mates."

Malfoy plucks the cigarette out of your fingers. "He's a _part-_ Veela."

"So?"

"So nothing." He takes a sip from his drink.

"Where is he?" You can't resist asking.

"Why?" He raises his eyebrow and drags at the cigarette, tilting his chin up.

The image of him leaning into Blaise on the balcony surfaces in your memory. Malfoy’s trousers around his knees, his pale body rocking, glowing pale in the night; Blaise's hand around his throat, tilting his chin up, the other one, not visible to you, working Malfoy's cock in tune to his slow thrusts.

"Curious." Your face burning, you shrug and look away.

"What do you want, Potter?"

You say nothing.

"Blaise? A threesome? To watch?"

 _Me?_ \- he doesn't ask.

Suddenly thirsty, you rub at the back of your neck and take a sip from your glass. It doesn't help. 

"A bit of everything?" You look him square in the face.

"I see." Malfoy's eyebrows shoot up. "You're gonna get neither."

You both know it's his past resentment speaking. But not only. Not only.

"I heard you telling Blaise you didn’t mind." 

He puts his glass down. "What if I lied?" 

"Why would you?" You look him up and down, still not entirely sure you want to get yourself into all this.

"Why would I?" He throws back at you, getting to his feet. "Bye, Potter." 

You watch his retreating back until he mingles with the crowd.

You would be an utter idiot to get involved with Malfoy again. After all this time, after you fucked it all up six years ago. After he's just made it clear you're unwelcome. 

Still.

There's Blaise who's a Veela and nothing good can possibly come out of it.

And though you could think of nothing but him for the entire week, it's not only Blaise. It's not. It's Malfoy, too. It's fucking Malfoy again and... he despises you. Not without a reason. 

Not after you disappeared like you did and never showed up. Without explanation, in the middle of your 'arrangement'. The pressure of those days, people's expectations made you do it. So you told yourself. You were twenty-four. What else were you supposed to do? There was no choice, you told yourself and believed it. You had it all planned out at twenty-four. Did you really have to tell Malfoy? The two of you were just fucking, it's not like you owed each other anything. The day your engagement became big news all over the papers, you just didn't show up at the flat where he was waiting for you. There was no need to explain. In three months, you broke your engagement and quit the Aurors. You knew he left his Ministry job, too. You went travelling and didn't return to England until several years later.

This is how it had ended. The two of you never spoke again.

*

\- 3 -

**B.**

_...One week later..._

You want him and don't want him. You think I don't know, but I do. As soon as you saw him at the club two weeks ago, I knew. 

_'If you insist.'_ As though your careless shrug could have fooled me. You thought it did. But I know you too well. And you hardly know me at all. You think you are the desperate one, you think I hold the power. Lucky me. As long as you think so, indeed I do. If you only knew you're free to leave any moment, would you choose to stay? I don't think I want to find out.

"This mate-thing is rubbish, isn't it?" You once asked me.

"What do you mean?"

"There's no such thing, is there?" Your tone was defiant, cautious. You avoided my eyes.

"What do you think?" I traced your fair eyebrows with my fingertip - one, then the other - making you look up at me from where you rested your head on my lap.

"I think it's rubbish," you repeated, your quicksilver eyes of the darker shade in that light. 

Oh, how I love to see rare golden sparks in them. They tell me that, if just a little, you are mine, too. 

"You belong to no one." 

Did I hear the bitterness in your voice? If I did, it was music to my ears.

"You're right," I lied, touching your lips with my thumb.

You were wrong, _so wrong._ You looked up at me, and there it was: a flicker of gold in silver. It sparked joy in me. I leaned down and planted a kiss on your lips. You had no idea how mistaken you were. I would never tell you.

When you arrive, he is already here: nursing his drink, he reclines in the armchair as though he owns the place. 

You stop in the doorway. I can feel your ire rising.

"What's he doing here?" You push yourself off the doorframe and approach the coffee table.

"Nice to see you, too," he replies to your back.

Pouring yourself a drink, you ignore him. "Blaise?"

"Blaise invited me for a drink." He says, and your head snaps up. Our eyes meet.

 _"Do you mind?"_ I ask into your thoughts.

 _"Yes,"_ you throw back.

 _"Jealous?"_ I tease. I know you are. I know your answer.

 _"No,"_ you scoff.

In the silent room, he clears his throat.

You tear your gaze away and sip your drink, heading to drop down on the sofa.

"Actually..." He begins. "We've been talking about...stuff." He glances between me and you. "That I might be into."

Your head snaps up.

 _Yes,_ I think, _Yes._

"What stuff?" Your voice is bored, but I feel a shiver of anticipation rising goosebumps over your skin.

"Oh, say..." He runs his hand through his hair. "When one might want to tie the other up and... the other one doesn't mind and even might be eager to receive a bit of whip." He watches you with hooded eyes. "That sort of stuff. I'm not an expert, but--"

"Do you even know what you're talking about?" You scoff.

_Oh, Draco_

"I know what I _want,"_ he throws back with an easy smile.

"Oh do you?"

He nods, his fingertip circling the rim of his glass. "You may do the _talking_ if it pleases you."

For a brief moment, you are caught up in the movement of his fingers. It's only a moment. You shake it off. I sense your annoyance. He's enjoying this a little bit too much. 

"What do you want, Potter?"

He stares at you and then looks away. Saying nothing, he gives me a brief glance.

I sit back in my armchair, trying to steady my frantic heartbeat. No. I won't help him. This is between the two of you. He is setting the trap both of you are unaware of, and you are about to step right into it.

Letting the silence stretch, you wait, a scathing refusal poised on your tongue.

_A bit closer, Draco_

"To surrender control." Etched with certainty, hard as stone, his statement falls heavily at your feet. A ripe fruit. He holds your gaze, waiting, _waiting,_ daring you to pick it up.

Calm as a brick wall, you put your glass down. Your teeth worry your lower lip. Knowing you, it must equal an explosion. I feel desire roaring through your veins. _Fiendfyre._ The trap snaps closed. You glance at me. We both know: he's got you where he wants you. Unaware, he’s still waiting for your reply.

"I think I might agree." You prop your head on your hand against the sofa. "To... take it from you at your request. What exactly are you asking?"

"I..." His composure failing, he suddenly flushes, rubbing at the back of his neck. "You mean, what I might like?" 

"Yes," I say, making him look at me. "And what you might _not."_

"Yeah..." He smiles at me. "Kind of rules and... stuff?"

"Rules." I agree.

My gaze caresses the full bow of his lips, sliding along the line of his jaw, his strong neck, already imagining its cords straining under the leather collar, the way he arches and trembles, and bites his lips, his mouth falling open and--

"Have you done this before?" Your voice cuts into my thoughts.

I find him staring at me with a mix of fear, lust and anticipation. I got carried away.

He tears his gaze from me. "Er... no. I... I'm..." He takes a sip from his glass. "I didn't. This is why I'm here, aren't I? I'm not a shrinking violet, you know." His little laugh is breathless and nervous, _and_ your composure stretches thin.

"Pick your safeword," I ask him.

Reclining on the sofa, you study the contents of your glass as though it interests you more than this conversation with Potter. You keep your expression bored - that's how you think it appears. It probably does. To him. But I know better. I feel the burn of your desire flaring off your skin, making the air shimmer around the edges. The feverish rush of heat through your veins. You struggle to keep your breath even. You think you are good at it. Your face lies. _It always lies._ But I know better. I don't need to look at your face to _know._ You are dying for it. You are dying for him. It gets me high, it lets me down. I know it only takes someone just like him to snap this bleak golden thread between us. With his stinging bright eyes, with his passion and power. You are such a whore for power. It gets you high like nothing ever does.

I know if I play this right, I'll have him too. Just where I want him. Just like you.

"Pick your safeword," I repeat.

"Enough," he immediately replies.

"Pick another. This one isn’t sufficient," I explain. "It’s not secure, you may get carried away or mix things up. You need a safeword that will ensure--"

"Enough" is good," he says irritably. "I know when enough is enough. Are you taking me for a baby?" He waves a dismissive hand. He takes this talk for some silly game; he doesn’t think he’ll need a safeword.

"Suit yourself." You shrug. "Hope that it works for you. So?"

"So?" He raises his eyebrows in question.

"Your list of preferences, your _'yes'_ and _'no',_ taboos?" I explain to him because you are being difficult.

"A list? Do I actually have to make a list?" 

"You'd better." I nod. "For your own safety." 

"But... it would take some time to figure it out."

"Take your time." I smile at him.

At the edge of my vision, you shift.

"So... we're not gonna get to it tonight?" His face is embarrassed.

You can't help a laugh. "So eager, Potter, are we?" 

"Oh fuck off." He downs the remnants of his drink and stands up. "So bye, then..." He approaches me, offering his hand. 

I stand up and take it. "Leaving so soon?"

"Well, yes..." His gaze is welcoming, and his hand is sure in mine. 

_You don't like it._

"I should go write down my... _list."_ Grinning, he releases my hand.

"Please do." I smile as he smiles back. "You are most welcome."

Not acknowledging you, he gives me a nod and heads to the door.

*

\- 4 -

**D.**

_...Three days later..._

"Safeword?"

"Enough." 

"Colour?"

"Green." Potter licks his lips.

"Good." Slowly you approach the bed.

Blindfolded, he turns his head to the sound of your footsteps across the room.

Wrists bound to the headboard, he is stretched out before you only in his underwear. You relish the sight of his arms straining above his head, the coarse hair of his armpits dark against his pale skin. His hard brown nipples, the sharp outline of his ribcage, his vulnerable stomach exposed. His strong thighs dusted with black hairs, legs slightly spread apart... the bulge straining the front of his black boxers. It was his wish to keep them on.

Behind you, Blaise shifts in the armchair, his desire pulsing through your veins. In the mirror wall to your left, you catch the reflection of the black leather mask covering your upper face. A dainty thing exquisitely cut just above your lips. Blaise's present. In the mirror, Blaise is watching you.

Your gloved hand firms its grip on the leather whip handle.

You walk around the bed, Potter following the sound of your movement with the turn of his head, until you finally stop – only to head back, your studded leather boots against the floor measuring your footsteps in the same slow pace. The floorboards creak. His head turns back in your direction.

Forcing your breath to keep calm and steady, you approach the foot of the bed and stop.

And wait.

You can wait for ages. For as long as it takes. It will not take long. 

The air is burning with Blaise's desire, golden sparks shimmering at the edge of your vision. If he told you to stop now and come to him, you would. You would drop the whip on Potter's bare stomach and leave him bound and blindfolded. You would shed your clothes and straddle Blaise, letting him fill you as you shout in frenzied delight. Letting Potter hear, letting him know everything. You would even remove his blindfold and let him see what matters.

If Blaise told you to stop now.

But he doesn't. He won't. It's for him you're doing this. If he stopped you, you'd stop, and to hell with Potter, no matter that he makes your desire rage. But Blaise doesn't. He wants Potter. You _and_ Potter. And when could you ever tell him 'no'?

Minutes pass. Silence.

Then--

"Malfoy?"

_Yes_

Your lips curl. The whip slashes the air, stinging Potter's thigh. He cries out.

"You will address me 'Sir'--"

"Sorry, I thought--" he interrupts you.

The whip whistles again and strikes his shin. 

"Ahh!" Potter jerks.

"For speaking without permission, you will be punished. Understood?"

He nods vigorously.

_Ahh, so eager_

You exhale carefully so that he won't hear.

"Answer."

"Yes," he breathes out, his belly quivering.

"Yes, _Sir." Snap!_ The tip of the whip licks at his ribs. He grunts. 

"Yes, Sir," he whispers.

You want him to scream. You'll make him.

"I can't hear you." You trail the whip lightly over his stomach, touching his navel. 

He instinctively jerks, bracing himself for another blow. It doesn’t come.

 _"Yes, Sir."_ He forces out, his breath going faster.

You withdraw the whip. “Colour?” 

"Green."

"Good." You put the whip down against his leg. He jerks but remains silent.

"If you want something, you should _ask_ for it. After my permission."

The leather straps of your harness cut into your armpits. Glancing in the mirror, you adjust them and begin deliberately rolling up the sleeves of your white shirt. To the elbow. One... then another. You’re most pleased with your look. All this is for Blaise, but you'd rather wish Potter saw you right now. Eventually, you may let him.

"You may speak."

"I want you to... touch me, Sir,” Potter says. “If it pleases you.”

Oh, it pleases you.

He is trying to relax into the mattress, but the strain of his bound arms doesn't let him. The bulge in his boxers has grown. Just a little bit.

You pick the whip up and climb on the bed to straddle his legs. With the whip, you lightly trace the outline of his cock through the fabric. His breath catches, though he doesn't dare buck his hips up and press into the touch.

Good.

"I am going to remove your underwear." You withdraw the whip.

Potter swallows. "Please do."

 _Slap!_ \- rings the sound of your palm against his skin. He yelps. Your gloved hand leaves a red mark on his upper thigh.

"I didn't give you permission to speak."

Potter nods and licks his lips.

"Colour?"

"Green."

You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. He bucks his hips up to help you slide the fabric under his arse and down, down his thighs. His cock springs out and bobs in front of you. Potter makes a small sound in his throat. You are so hard, too. You slide off the bed, pulling his boxers off his legs until they drop on the floor.

"Spread your legs,” you command. _“Not_ too wide," you add when Potter opens his thighs for you. "Yes. Just so."

You sit on the bed beside him, running your gloved fingers along the inner side of his thigh, until you reach his groin and stop a fraction of an inch away.

Potter shifts.

"I intend to _touch_ you. You are _not_ allowed to come. You may speak."

Not waiting for his reply, you encircle his stiff cock with your gloved hand, giving it a stroke.

"Yes... _Aaahhh..._ Sir." Potter thrusts into your palm.

You remove your hand, making him growl in frustration.

"Lie still." You reach for a vial of lube at the bedside table. "You are not allowed to move your hips." You pour lube into your palm, smearing it with your fingers. Fine leather glistens, turning even more supple. Though this is not for Potter, this is for Blaise and him alone, you think again how you wish Potter saw you right now. You touch the base of his cock, slowly sliding your fingers under his balls and back and repeat... Reaching just so between his arse cheeks. Potter's thighs tense, but he remains silent. 

You want him to beg.

"Speak." You shift, moving a bit to the side to give Blaise a better view.

"Touch me, Sir," Potter whispers; his impossibly hard cock bobs. 

"Ask _nicely."_ You lean forward to lightly circle his nipple with the very tip of your lubed thumb.

His breath shudders. "Please, Sir. _Please._ Touch me."

"I am _touching_ you." Your thumb drawing circles over his nipple, your other hand trails down his stomach and lower belly to sharply _tug_ at his pubic hair.

A low grunt escapes his throat. "Touch me _there,_ Sir... Touch my cock. Please." His hips involuntarily buck up.

You withdraw your hands altogether and pick up the whip.

 _Crack!_ A red stripe blooms across his chest. He shouts in pain, thrashing against his bonds.

"I ordered you _not_ to move your hips. You will be punished."

The whip _snaps_ again, leaving the second scarlet trace on his chest to match the first.

Potter swallows his cry down.

"Colour?"

"Green." He breathes heavily, but his voice is steady, his erection still harder than wood.

You will take him apart. You will make him shout 'Red'.

You wave your left hand, and an ice cube from the bowl on the bedside table lands into your palm. Wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, you finally give it a long sure stroke. To the tip and back. And again. 

"Lie still."

Breathing heavily, Potter bites his lip but doesn't move. Slowly stroking him, you press the ice cube into his nipple. His breath catches.

"Look at you." The ice cube travels over his flushed chest to his other nipple. "Such a _slut."_ You firm your grip on his cock. "Spread out for me." The ice slides along his abdomen, right into his belly button, where you smear the remnants until nothing's left, droplets rolling down his sides and belly. "So eager and trembling." Each time, your wrist makes that tiny twist over the head of his cock. _"Begging_ for it." Your hand speeds up for several more excruciating strokes before you suddenly release his cock, withdrawing altogether.

Trembling all over, he lets out a pained whimper. To your right, Blaise shifts in the armchair. You sit back on your heels and watch as Potter swallows several times, trying to get his breathing under control.

You want him to lose it.

You want Blaise to _lose it._ You are so hard, so ready. You would free your cock and spread Potter's legs and fuck him _now._ He wouldn't object.

_Not yet_

You'd go to Blaise and straddle him and ride him, arching into his touch and let him own you, making him forget about Potter.

 _Later._ All that will come later.

Without a warning, you grab Potter's cock, stroking, _stroking._ He cries out. You lower your face and take the tip into your mouth. 

"Ughhh..." 

He's big, stretching your lips wide. Working him with your hand, you don’t shift further down, moving your head just so, just to feel him swelling even bigger between your lips. His breaths harsh, he is trembling all over, trying with all his might to stay still. _Good._ You slide down and _suck,_ and... withdraw with a pop, removing your hand from his cock. 

Potter whines and thrashes. _"Oh, GOD..."_

"You mean - Sir." You sit back on your heels.

 _"Sir,"_ he whimpers.

You watch him. Grimace twisting his face, he's breathing heavily, his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. A faint sheen of moisture is covering his whole body. A droplet rolls along his neck, down into the hollow of his throat.

He is ripe.

You tug your right glove off and gently encircle his slick overstimulated cock with your bare palm. 

_"Arghhh!"_ Potter shouts as you stroke him, raw and hot to the touch. And again: "Urghhh..." 

The air around you sparks, you can _feel_ Blaise’s sigh in your core.

"You are not permitted to come until I let you," you drawl, your firm gentle hand stroking-stroking- _stroking_ his raw flesh.

_Now_

His breath hitches, he shakes his head. His body trembles and jerks, _again,_ as he thrusts helplessly into your palm.

The trap snaps closed.

Sobbing as though in pain, Potter shudders.

_You’ve been waiting for this_

His cock pulses in your hand, come smearing between your fingers. 

_Yes_

Thick and warm, it comes in bouts, and you stroke until nothing is left, all the while aware of Potter writhing under your touch. With a raspy sound deep in his throat, he jerks one last time and stills.

You are so calm. You thought you'd be raging, but no.

You release his cock and slowly reach for the blindfold.

In silence, Blaise holds his breath.

With a jerk, you tear the thing off his face, discarding it on the floor. Potter flinches, he hadn’t expected this. Exhausted and blissful, his face is damp with sweat. There's this tired, glazed feverish look in his eyes. Are those tears glistening in the corners? His eyes widen when he sees your masked face. He stares. Stares hard. Saying nothing, you stare back, until uneasiness begins seeping off him. He's uncertain what's going on. He's been thinking the scene has ended.

_Not so quick, Potter_

"Sir?" He raises his eyebrows.

The sound of your slap across his face rings in the air. And another. _Slap!_ And again. Not letting him catch his breath or even cry out. _Slap!_ Your palm stings. _Slap!_ And the back of your hand.

"You came without my permission." Your voice is cold. _Slap!_

Finally, he gives a bewildered cry, and you stop to admire your work. Read marks from your palm, from the back of your hand burn bright all over his shocked face. You think you glimpse fear.

_Finally_

"This is a punishment." 

You tug the glove back on your right hand and straddle his hips in a sudden movement, aware of his shocked gasp when his soft cock smears against the front of your leather trousers.

You reach for the whip.

He is shaking his head.

Your rage is cold.

The first blow licks at the side of his neck, drawing blood. He shouts. The second stings across his collarbone, and _again._ His shoulders, chest, his neck again. Your arm is relentless. His ear, his temple, the side of his face, on and on, the whistling of the whip drowning in his one endless shocked wail of agony.

Blaise bolts upright in his armchair.

 _"Draco?!"_ You feel his touch against your mind. You shut it out. He shall not interfere. Potter is _yours._

Finally

_Finally_

Your rage is hot.

"Stop!" Potter shouts, thrashing violently beneath you. "Untie me!"

You stop. Just to throw the whip away and grip his throat.

Terror in his eyes as you stare him down sets you on fire.

"Red." He chokes out.

_Fiendfyre_

You release his throat.

"RED!" He shouts at the top of his lungs as you lean down to sink your teeth into his flesh.

"ENOUGH!" 

That hot vulnerable spot under his jaw. You clench your teeth, his skin breaks.

"ENOUGH!"

It's not enough. It's never enough! You taste blood. _Never enough._

Blaise's grip on your shoulders wrenches you away from Potter's thrashing form. You end up sprawled on the floor.

Through the ringing in your ears, you are vaguely aware of Blaise unfastening Potter's hands on the bed. He's saying something, his voice cracks. Potter bolts out, trying to shove him away.

Shaking all over, you get to unsteady feet and wipe your mouth. Blood is not visible on the black leather of your glove.

"Get off me!" Potter shouts hysterically, trying to wrestle out of Blaise's arms.

His pale body is covered in red swelling bruises and marks of your whip, _and his face..._

You turn around and flee.

*

\- 5 -

**B.**

He fights me and fights me. _And fights me._

"Get off me!" His eyes, terrified, he throws me off when I try to hug him. He shoves me in the chest and delivers a blow to my shoulder, and punches me in the gut with his elbow when I try to pull him to me again. I let him. 

I should let him everything and more. I deserve it.

"Let GO!" His hysterical scream drowns the sound of the door slamming behind you as you flee.

"Let go, you bitch!" He gulps the air. "I’ll kill you--" His voice gives in to a sob.

Wrecked and exhausted, he is still fighting me.

_Oh, Harry_

What have I done?

Wrestling him on his back, I press him into the mattress and hold him down. 

"Shhh... I've got you." I cradle his face, pressing our foreheads together. 

His shocked eyes bury into mine. He doesn't close them.

"Breathe," I whisper, "breathe, Harry. Breathe."

I breathe with him, slowing down, until he follows me, until his chest is no longer heaving. I touch my lips to his forehead, to his temple and eyes, over and over. Over the angry red marks you've left. My lips sting. Later. I'll heal all his bruises later. First, I must heal _him._

"Shhh... You are safe now." Gingerly, I turn him on his side. "I've got you." 

He finally doesn't resist.

I wrench at my shirt, tearing the buttons open, and discard it on the floor.

"I've got you, Harry." I press myself flush to his hot back, spooning him from behind. "You're safe now... I'm here. I’m here for you." I repeat over and over, pulling up the blanket to cover us both.

His skin feverish to the touch, he is trembling all over. I want to weep and howl and claw at my face. To break down and beg his forgiveness. For not stopping you when I should have, for letting you violate him, for fucking it up. There's so much I must say to him, so much to unravel. All of it will come later. This is not the time. I firm my grip over his chest, my other hand stroking his hair. He is shaking in my arms, but it's not only that. He is crying and still struggles to conceal it, to stifle his sobs.

"That's right, Harry, let go," I whisper into his nape. "You can let go now. I am here to take care of you."

"I'm cold," he mumbles through the ragged breath.

There's this ugly feeling trying to rise in me, this sickening guilty resentment and self-disgust. I shut it down. There's no time for that now. I must help him first. Closing my eyes, I press my forehead into his nape, letting my magic flow and soothe him, letting it warm him up and wash him clean, erase all traces of _you_.

He exhales and breathes in sharply and exhales again.

“You're safe now.”

I press my lips into the back of his neck and feel the rush, fuelling the steady flow. It feels like embers, it tastes like melody, it sounds like a thousand golden sparks glowing in the night air - my essence pouring into his soul.

He falls quiet, going pliant in my arms, finally relaxing against me. We lie in silence for a long time.

"I need water." He rasps. "And the loo."

I bring him a jar and watch as he downs three glasses, and then follow him with my eyes as he goes to the bathroom and back. Purple whip marks over his chest and shoulders make me wince. _Later._ Before he comes back, I fully undress and turn the lights off, leaving only the small bedside lamp glowing.

"Come here." I lift the blanket.

He hesitates in the doorway. "Look, I..." Avoiding my eyes, he shrugs and makes a movement as though to cover his limp cock, but then just drops his hand. "I think I'd be better going." 

"Come here," I repeat. "Just this once. Let me take care of you."

"I'm fine," he says flatly. "I don't need your cuddling."

I sigh. "Harry."

"I'm not a damsel in distress. I knew what I signed up for--"

"No, you didn't. And neither did Draco." I wince. "I thought he did."

He flinches at your name. "I don't need you to--"

"Harry, please." I get out of bed and approach him. "For your own safety. You might not know yet, but it's going to hit you hard. I can't force you to stay, but--"

"I think you can..." He studies me through narrowed eyes.

"Maybe I can," I agree, "but I'm not going to. I'm _asking_ you. Just for tonight." I offer my hand.

He looks me up and down, his eyes travelling below my waist, lingering there. I am not hard. I'm soft - so soft for him - it pains me. He finally reaches out, lacing our fingers. "Okay."

It is only when our skin touches, do I realise all his bravado is put on. He is drained and exhausted and already afraid of being alone. I feel his desperate need to feel safe and protected, need for someone to give it to him. I feel him better now. Better than I did before, clearer, stronger. I'm not sure what it means, it had only happened once before - with you. I leave these thoughts for later.

"Come." I pull him towards the bed.

He slips under the blanket. I turn the lamp off, leaving the bedroom to the cool clear light of the moon and arrange myself behind him, gathering him in my arms, breathing him in. He smells _so..._ He still smells of _you._ My heart clenches. I don't want to think about it. About you. About what all this might mean. Not yet. 

Later.

With a sigh, he relaxes into me and finds my hand over his chest, his fingers snaking between mine. "Blaise..." 

I close my eyes and let my magic flow.

"Blaise," he mumbles sleepily. 

I feel him drifting, falling into the flow, his mind finally giving in, letting go... He's gone. The sleep takes over, carrying him away. I sigh and kiss his nape and relish his smell - _your_ smell over his skin - finally letting myself think.

It has never happened before; it has never been like this. We've let strangers in many times, I thought you knew what you were doing. You thought you did, too. And so did Harry. It was the first time your control failed. The first time you fell apart so utterly and abused your power. The first time you ruined someone like this. 

The first time it felt as though you ruined me along with him.

I am afraid to think about what it might mean. I don't want to just yet. 

I nuzzle at his skin and risk a glance in the mirror at the opposite wall, unable to discern the features of his sleeping face. Still holding my hand, he is breathing quietly. My arm is stark across his pale chest. In the cool moonlight, I seem to be a part of the night air, embracing him in the dark room. I catch a flicker of gold in the mirror and close my eyes. 

*

\- 6 -

**H.**

_...Next morning..._

You wake up to his kisses. To his head bent over your chest, to his lips trailing over your bruised skin. It stings and you hiss, propping yourself on your elbows, making him stop and look up at you.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" He murmurs into your skin.

His lips are bruised and his eyes are golden. Last night suddenly comes back to you. 

"I'm sorry, Harry... I'm so sorry." He is planting kisses down your chest. "Forgive me." His lips trail up to your collarbone, to your neck... until they press into that spot right under your jaw - right where it stings the most, _right where..._

You jerk.

"Forgive me." He kisses the angry bruise - a teeth mark where Malfoy tried to rip your throat out. You saw it. Last night, you studied it in the bathroom mirror.

He presses his lips to the bruise, again and again, making you arch and cry out, almost making you scream, until you realise it hurts less and less, until it stops hurting.

"It's not _your_ fault," you reply, shuddering as he moves up and under your ear. _God._

"It is." He nuzzles your temple. "I insisted. He didn't really want it at first. He tried to refuse me. I set it all up. Forgive me."

"Why?"

"Reasons." He kisses your cheekbone, and the skin there ceases stinging.

"What reasons?"

"You don't want to know." He stares down at you.

"And if I do?" You stare back. At his perfectly chiselled face, into his black eyes - that you swear, shone golden just a moment before. How does he do it? 

"If I do?" You repeat, relishing the feeling of his smooth chest under your palm.

He only flashes a smile, pulling you up.

"Come."

"Where?" You squeeze his fingers, letting him lead you to the mirror wall.

There you are – side by side in the mirror - with your hands locked. He's a bit taller, a bit broader than you. Strong and delicate, perfect. So bright, so beautiful, you can hardly bear to look at him. He steps behind you and snakes his hand around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. Mesmerised, you stare at your reflection. His ebony skin glowing, he makes you look wane, bleak, dull next to him.

"You are beautiful," he whispers, making you laugh at the irony.

"No..." Leaning back into him, you press your temple to the side of his face and stare. "No. You are."

He smooths his palm over your stomach, up over your chest. Your skin is unblemished. Neither marks nor bruises. Not a single one. As though last night has never happened. 

"You healed them." You cover his hand with your palm.

"It was the least I could do. Forgive me." He catches your eyes in the mirror.

You want to say that there's nothing to forgive, that it was not his fault... Only it was. It very much was, he set it all up, he made Malfoy do it.

As though sensing the shift in your thoughts, he tightens his arm around your waist. "Harry."

Of course, he does, he's a Veela, for fuck's sake. This is what he _does,_ reading all your senses. You feel vulnerable, open and bare, but somehow safe, too.

"Let me wash you clean." His lips touch your ear, and you begin to harden. _"Let me..."_

You let him. How could you ever deny him anything?

He leads you to the bathroom and fills the huge marble bath with hot water and perfumed bubbles. You climb into it, water reaching up to your waist. Already half-hard, he sits at the edge. You can't look away. Scooping scented suds into his palm, he spreads them over your chest, lathering up your shoulders, caressing your collarbones and neck. His hand slides down over your nipples, down your abdomen and up your side. You bend your knees, pulling them up so that your legs show above the water. 

"May I," he asks?

"Yes." You are not sure what he is asking, but the answer is _yes._

He climbs into the bathtub, kneeling between your spread thighs. 

_God, yes_

He dips his both hands in the lather, smearing it up your calves and under your knees. His palms travel along your thighs and back and up to your hips again, until they rest just near your groin still hidden underwater. More than anything, you want him to touch you there. _Right there._ And now he's going to. You brace yourself.

He doesn't.

His palms travel to your stomach, soaping up your chest again. You close your eyes in frustration and rest your head back against the edge of the bath. He pours water over your upper body, washing the soap off. Finally, his hands withdraw. You open your eyes. Watching you, he sits back on his heels right between your open thighs. Fully hard now, his wet glistening cock is standing forward. You shift, revealing your erection. You are so hard. So hard you can't bear it.

"Touch me," you whisper. 

He nods and touches himself instead. You grip your own dick, slowly stroking yourself, watching him doing the same, watching the dark swollen tip of his cock moving in and out of his fist. You want more, you want it _different,_ your hand speeds up, it is still not enough.

He releases his cock and grips the side of the tub, moving closer, hooking his leg over your thigh.

"May I?"

"Yes... _fuck, YES,"_ you breathe out, letting him straddle you.

Holding him by the hips while he lubes you up, you expect it different, you expect it slow... When he suddenly sinks all the way down in one short movement - it's a shock.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes.

"You alright?" You gasp.

Biting his lip, he nods and begins moving. Sweet and slow, he rides you until you almost explode... _Almost._ But he stares down into your eyes and... somehow you don't. There's more… and more… and more.

"Not just yet," he whispers, or thinks into your mind, you are not entirely sure.

Languidly, he is riding you. The sounds of water slapping in the tub drive you mad. Resting his hand on your shoulder, he is touching himself with the other, slowly, oh-so-slowly...

"Touch me." His eyes never leave yours. He doesn't say it out loud, but you feel his words in your gut. "Help me."

You put your hand over his, moving it along.

You know the moment something changes: the air around you shifts, his eyes turn golden - and suddenly you are glowing. Glowing inside. Sharp and deep at once, your pleasure crushes you and lifts you up. You are inside him, but it feels as though he's filling you up, filling you until you burst. Exploding with a shout, you grip the edge of the tub, your hips jerking up at each maddening thrust you drive into his body, again and again. He clenches around you and arches, his come spilling over your fingers, dripping on your belly, smearing, mingling with soapy bubbles on your skin. Your hand slick over his, you don't stop stroking. His whole body shuddering, he comes without any sound, leaning heavily into you. You put your arms around his wet back and still, suspended in the moment, flowing in bliss, feeling him around you, inside and out... until he captures your lips in the softest of kisses. Exhausted, you open up and let him.

"Blaise," you whisper - or think - between the kisses, and when he responds with a low, quiet laugh, you are not sure whether you've really heard it, or his voice just rang again inside your head.

"Forgive me." He melts you with his golden gaze. "It won't happen again. Ever. I promise."

Your heart clenches. You nod and find his lips again and drown. There's nothing you wouldn't forgive him now. _Nothing._

He sighs against you, and you swear, for a moment it feels as though a golden string pierces your heart.

*

\- 7 -

**D.**

_...Two days later..._

Staring at his back, you linger in the doorway. His dark silhouette outlined against the pale window, he doesn't turn.

You want to fall on your knees and crawl to him and beg. You will.

He knows how you feel. He always does. 

With his arms crossed over his chest, he finally turns, leaning back against the windowsill. Outside the night is falling, engulfing his silhouette in the dark room. With a wave of his hand, he makes the wall lamp flare up.

"Come." His voice is gentle. Oh-so-gentle. It is tearing you apart.

You come. Slowly you approach with your head bowed - no closer than you dare to.

"Come," he repeats.

Still not looking up, you take another step forward, finally closing the distance between you.

"Draco," he says.

You fall on your knees and feel his fingers in your hair. You hug him, pressing your face into his hip.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, squeezing him until it's hard to breathe. "Forgive me."

He strokes your hair. "It's not _my_ forgiveness you need."

You know. It weighs heavily upon you, dragging you down, crashing you. It has never happened before. You have never lost yourself like that. You’ve never abused a sub. But it wasn't just a sub - just any sub. It was Potter, and honestly... you can't say you're even surprised. You should have known better, you should have never agreed to that in the first place. You should have left, or thrown him out - whatever - as soon as it became clear what he was asking for. Anything but not accept. But then there was _Blaise..._ and when could you ever tell him 'no'?

Too late.

"It will never happen again." You say into the hard ridge of his leather belt against your lips. "I don't know what came over me," you lie, your voice muffled by his body.

"Oh, I think you do." His palm cups your face, gentle fingers sliding under your jaw. 

You close your eyes. When were you able to fool him? What have you even hoped for?

He tilts your chin up. "Draco."

Slowly, you open your eyes to meet his gaze. Dark and liquid, with no trace of gold.

Everything slams back into your memory. _Everything._ Everything he has never seen before, everything you’ve never shown him. Resentful, you watch your six-years-younger self through his eyes. Yourself and _Potter._

_... You pass each other in the Ministry corridors. Potter turns at the same time as you do to stare in his wake. The two of you abruptly turn away. But not before your gazes meet and hold for an eternal moment..._

_... The New Year Ministry gala 2004. You follow him with your eyes for the entire evening. Your mind blurs, you're getting drunk. Throwing you a long look across the ballroom, he disappears behind the French window..._

_... The tip of his cigarette glows in the dark when you step out onto the balcony and quietly close the door, shutting the music out. He's alone, blowing a stream of smoke into the starry night._

_"Malfoy." He sends the cigarette butt flying and turns at your approach, as though he's not surprised at all._

_"Malfoy?" He repeats when you're close enough to smell alcohol on his breath._

_When you wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss - he doesn't resist._

_"Fuck... what are you doing?" He whispers hot against your lips. But doesn't resist._

_When you drop on your knees, he says nothing, only stares down at you in shock. When you open the front of his trousers, he sways, catching himself by the railings. He is drunk, too. He doesn’t withdraw._

_You tug at his pants with unsteady fingers, and when his dick springs right in your face, you grip it at the base and swallow the rest down. Potter's belly clenches. You suck and slide down, moving your fist up, until it meets your lips the middle, and repeat. And repeat-repeat-repeat... and glance up at his face_ _._ _His jaw slack and face bewildered, he is staring down at you. There's this savage note in your movement, determination to make him SCREAM. He doesn't. You double your effort, your hand speeding up, feeling him swell even more in your mouth, and tense and quiver... NOW. You suck. He jerks and silently chokes you with come. Trying to swallow, you withdraw in a fit of coughing, still holding him by the base._

_"Fuck... you're insane," he mumbles, finally pulling away and hastily tucking his cock in. "Anyone could've walked in on us."_

_This is how it starts._

_... He comes for more. Rented Muggle flats. Hotels in London. Quiet Bed & Breakfasts in the countryside... _

_... He ignores you at the Ministry... He looks away... Your lives don't cross..._

_... He refuses to use his Patronus, he is wary of the owl-post. He makes you learn how to use a Muggle mobile phone..._

_... He's not ready to be out, you see... There's his career and EXPECTATIONS and besides... there's already too much on his plate, shut the fuck up, he's not here to talk..._

_... Your standing weekend arrangement. Saturday night - to Sunday afternoon. You rent a flat under a Muggle name. Both of you arrive and leave Polyjuiced. He fucks you, and fucks you, and fucks you. Or you fuck and fuck and fuck him. Sometimes you do it in turns. On those nights, between drinking and fucking, there's no time for sleep. Later, you both start using potions to keep you going longer, to keep you from coming, to keep you from feeling. Later, your encounters get higher, drunker, more violent. Savage. Next day at the Ministry, you can't pull yourself together. You hate Mondays. Later, it takes you longer to recover. You begin to hate the rest of the week, too…_

_...You always come for more..._

_... His photos in the_ Prophet, _hand-in-hand with Weasley's sister. They're feeding ducks in St. James's Park. He is laughing. Laughing like he's happy, like he's free, like he doesn't have EXPECTATIONS to fulfil. Like he’s fulfilled the fucking expectations of the whole world. He pulls her into a hug._

_'HOPELESSLY IN LOVE: HARRY POTTER REUNITES WITH HIS SCHOOL SWEETHEART. WILL WE HEAR THE WEDDING BELLS RINGING SOON FOR OUR FUTURE HEAD-AUROR?'_

_You feel sick. You don't recognise him. This light-hearted stranger is not the Potter you know. He's not the one who grimly averts his eyes at the Ministry. Not the one who fucks you into the mattress with a determination as though he's poised to kill. Not the one who doesn't even like you. Not the stranger who downs the potion and goes all night, leaving bruises on your body with that savage gleam in his eyes. It's not YOUR Potter. Not the one who has wrecked you, who is still 'figuring things out', who 'just needs it sometimes, okay? It’s none of your business, would you just shut your mouth and fuck me already, Malfoy?' This one in the papers has figured everything out and made the right choices, damn him, and doesn't have to hide... You hate him... You still come for more..._

_... It doesn't matter, really... He still comes for more..._

_... You hate her... You can't stand her red hair and that damned freckled face... He's an idiot..._

_... You still come for more..._

_... It is never enough..._

_... Saturday night. In your Muggle flat, you unfold the_ Prophet. _Potter is late. It has never happened before. He has no idea it’s your twenty-fourth birthday today, you never told him, what’s the point anyway? It’s not like you expect a present. You pour yourself some wine._

_'IT IS WITH THE GREATEST... *blah-blah-blah*... HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE... *blah-blah-blah*... THAT HARRY JAMES POTTER AND GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY ARE TO BE WED ON THE 1ST OF DECEMBER 2004...'_

_The words blur before your eyes. You drop the paper, then pick it up and reread it again._

_What does it matter? It doesn't matter. What do you care? You don't. It doesn't change anything. He still comes for more. He always did._

_Potter is late. He doesn’t call. You don’t reach for your phone. Fuck him._

_You pour yourself more wine and prop your feet on the coffee table. Why do you care? They've been dating for ages, and it never kept him from fucking his brains out with you. Would it keep him away from you if they signed some stupid papers and threw a wedding? You scoff. You are not going to ask questions, and when he tells you, you'll roll your eyes and say you don't give a fuck. That's what you're going to do. You finish the bottle. Potter is late. You undress and slip under the blanket._

_You wake up in the morning to the empty bed. He hasn't come. This time, he doesn't come for more. From now on, he never will..._

_... It takes you ages to recover. You hide, you avoid him in the Ministry, until, trying to seek him out, you realise he isn't there..._

_... Sometime later, there's an announcement in the_ Prophet, _that the wedding has been cancelled, and the news spreads that he has left the country..._

_... In a while, you quit your Ministry job and move on..._

_... You haven't seen him for six years..._

_... "Look at him," Blaise says in the club. "Just... look... at... him..."_

_Your heart squeezing, you look at a dark-haired man in a black T-shirt near the dance floor. He turns his head, and the frame of his glasses glistens under the flashing lights..._

You close your eyes and feel a single tear rolling out of the corner and down your cheek. With gentle fingers, Blaise wipes it away.

"I see." His hand buries into your hair, pressing your head to his stomach.

You desperately want to know what’s going on in his head, to feel something - anything - he is feeling right now. Is he mad? Is he jealous? You want him to be. With Blaise, you can never tell unless he wants you to know. Right now, he shuts everything off.

"You never told me."

"No, I..." You don't really want to talk about it.

"I see," he repeats, his fingertips caressing your scalp. "But you do know, my dear, you can't take revenge on him like that."

"I know," you mumble into his hip.

"You should have refused. Punched him in the face right then and there, if that was what you wanted. Beat the shit out of him, but NOT as his Dom, Draco. Never as his Dom."

"I know..." Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut. 

You want this to stop, you want him to stop. You want him to cuddle and comfort you, and _stop_ reminding you of the things you have done. The things that left you shaken, the things you don't know how to face. The things you don’t want to deal with.

He doesn't stop. You deserve it.

"You accepted his rules and violated his trust. You wrecked him; you have no idea what it cost me to pull him out of it. What are we going to do about it, Draco?"

"I don't want you to go." You cling to him. 

No. You'll die if you lose him... You know, he doesn't have a mate, but _you_ do. _You do._ He bonded you and tied you to him with a golden thread; he never told you what would happen if he cut it off and walked away.

"I'm here." His voice dark and deep, he cradles your head in his palms.

"I don't want you to GO!" You whisper brokenly. Tears swell in your eyes, squeeze your throat, take your voice away. "Don't leave me." You are not sure he hears you.

"I'm not going anywhere." There's something in his voice, something different. You've never heard it before. "Believe me, I am not." He presses your head to him and holds you.

You want to believe him.

Completely still, the two of you stay like this for ages. You - on your knees, with your forehead pressed to his belly. He - cradling your head, sliding his fingers through your hair. You feel his golden glow sipping into your being, warming you up, making you whole again. You breathe and breathe him, and breathe... 

"You should apologise." He says above you.

"Yes."

You will, it doesn't matter. You fucked it up; you will apologise to Potter and turn this page.

"You will, but it's not enough." He tilts your face up. "Balance must be restored."

Your heart sinks.

"You do know what it means, Draco." 

You do.

His eyes bore into yours, in their depth golden sparks ripple.

Fear rushes through your veins, and a thrill of excitement. But mostly fear, God help you. Mostly fear.

Blaise brushes your lower lip with his thumb. "I'll be there." 

He leans down to kiss you. His lips sting, they burn and make you cry out when his mind brushes against yours. His memories rush at you. 

_... Potter's insane eyes and tortured body. 'LET GO!' his screams, Blaise wrestling him down on the bed..._

_... Blaise draped over Potter's sleeping form, studying their reflection in the mirror..._

_... Blaise's lips trailing over the purple whip marks you left, gathering all the pain, taking away the terror you inflicted, erasing all your traces until Potter is clean..._

_... Blaise's black hands with delicate fingers smearing lather over Potter's pale chest in the tub...’May I?’..._

He cuts it off, shutting you out, leaving you wondering what happened next, what may have happened and what did. He kneels in front of you on the floor, pulling you back into the kiss. Jealousy claws at your heart, fear of what you've seen and what you haven't. Of what could have happened and might have. Of what-ifs, what-ifs, what-ifs.

His lips sting, and you nearly cry out but don't withdraw, only pressing further into him, deeper, sharper... You deserve it. _More._ He's returning Potter's pain to you, all of it, until the last drop, and you are taking it all.

*

\- 8 -

**B.**

_...One week later..._

"So you haven't seen him?" He asks, trying to sound casual. 

Casual. Mentioning you.

_Oh, Harry_

He's still shaken. Still trying to conceal it, to shrug it off. He doesn't want to appear _weak_ in front of me.

So very _Potter,_ you'd say.

I've done everything in my power to wash all your traces away. It was still not enough.

"I have." I glance at him over the rim of my glass.

His eyes are wary. 

"This wine is excellent." I swirl it against the light.

"And what did he say?" His voice is flat.

"That he was sorry." I take a sip and put the glass down.

"Oh, did he now?" His eyes are hard.

God help me, how are we supposed to do this right? He can wreck you, and be sure he will, only given a chance.

Do we have a choice?

The two of you probably do. 

I don't. 

I reach out across the table to cover his hand with mine.

"He did, and more." My thumb starts drawing circles on the back of his hand. I let magic sip from my fingertips, barely there, warming his skin up. He turns his hand in mine, gathering it into his open palm.

He can't resist. He doesn't want to.

Our palms touch. I feel the faint thrum, beating along with my heart. It is real, it is there, I can't be more certain and terrified. It has only ever happened with you. I never thought it possible. But here he is - right in front of me, golden sparks in his green eyes is all the evidence I need. The _thread_ is there. The one he is holding me on, the one that goes right through my heart. The other end is in your hands. 

"Hi." 

He looks up at you standing by our table and flinches. He missed your approach, but I did not. How could I? My entire being is eternally aware of you.

His hand grips mine for a moment and immediately drops it. He springs to his feet.

You flinch and step back.

"Harry--" I begin, aware of the bells ringing in his head.

"No." You shake your head. "Blaise, I can't do this."

All this is wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Harry," I warn - too late - as he launches forward and drives his fist into your face.

Muggles around the restaurant gasp in shock.

Together you go down on the floor. Wrestling you on your stomach, he straddles your arse and grips the fistful of your hair, viciously driving your forehead into the floorboards. You shout in pain, people around scream, security guards are making their way towards us.

I grip his shoulders, wrenching him away from you and look around. _Fuck._ About fifty Muggles are staring at us. The wailing of a police car stops on the street nearby. _Fuck it all to hell and back._ My arm still around his shoulder, I grip your hand and apparate the three of us away.

*

"About fifty Muggles, yes." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I will be most obliged."

"Potter." Pansy studies me. "And Draco. In the middle of a Muggle restaurant."

"Yes."

"What was _Potter_ , of all people, doing there with you?"

"It's a long story, I don't think--"

"All right, all right." She rolls her eyes. "I don't want to know. I'll send someone. We also have to check how many people those Muggles could have possibly contacted in the last…” - she glances at her wristwatch - “... eight minutes since you disappeared in front of them."

"Thanks, Pans, you're a queen." I smile at her.

"Off you go." She waves a dismissive hand at me, breaking the Floo connection.

I get up from my knees in front of the fireplace and turn around to survey the two of you at the opposite ends of the room.

Sporting a black eye, a blooming purple bruise on your forehead and a swollen cheekbone, you are staring ahead with your arms crossed. His face grim, Harry stares right back at me from beneath his heavy eyebrows.

"Pansy will have to alert the entire department to Obliviate all those Muggles and set their memories right," I complain. "What am I going to do with you now?"

"Nothing." You shift in your armchair. Harry throws you a murderous look across the room. "Potter fucks off, and I behave."

"I'm _not_ going anywhere." Harry's tone is defiant.

"You are." You throw at him, not turning your head.

"I'm not." He throws back.

"He's not." My sudden reply makes you both flinch.

You turn to me in a silent question.

"Harry stays." I glance at him. "And so do you," I add, and he winces.

"Why won't everyone just _calm down?_ " I bark when he makes a move to rise from the armchair. "And behave like a fucking grown-up."

You scoff in your corner.

I approach the neutral territory of the sofa between the two armchairs and sit down. "Draco?"

You shift in your seat. "Hear me out, Potter, will you?"

Harry makes a disdainful sound, but I glance at him and he falls silent.

"Before you smashed my face into the floor, I actually intended to apologise and tell you my offer."

 _"Apologise?"_ Harry says in bewilderment. "You can't just fucking _apologise_ for what you've done."

"Not _just_ apologise." You wince and turn to me. _"Help me, I can’t do this alone."_ Your thought reaches me.

"Harry, please," I begin. "Hear him out. And then either of you can leave if you want to," I say, hoping with all my might that neither of you realises you're both free to do so. Nothing is holding you by my side. "Listen."

He listens.

*

\- 9 -

**H.**

_...Four days later..._

"Safeword?"

"Blaise." His voice is muffled by the pillow.

You survey his prone form on the bed. Face down, he is sprawled on his stomach, his hands tied to the headboard. You can tell he is scared.

You are scared, too.

You've never done this before. Not like this. Ever. You’ve never thought it was your thing anyway. You did handle Malfoy roughly in the past, yes, but he always gave as good as he got. He was never helpless, never at your mercy. Never like this. Never. It probably shouldn't be done like this. In revenge. Or it probably should, you can't tell, you're not an expert. 

"The balance must be restored," Blaise had told you.

It's probably wrong, you think. Wrong to do this when you can sense his fear rolling off him in waves. When your ire has been brewing all this time, until it matured, until it grew cold. When you can't suppress it, when you don't even want to. When you fear yourself, fear your power over him probably even more than he should fear you. When he chose his lover's name as a safeword, making sure Blaise would stop you if you were unable to stop yourself. It feels wrong. You still accepted the offer, didn’t you? Because it’s not that simple. Because how could you resist?

You put your knee on the bed and firm your grip around the whip handle.

"Colour?"

"Green." 

You strike. Across his round bare buttocks, putting all your force into the blow. He jerks, his cry muffled by the pillow. A red stripe decorates his smooth white arse. You like it there. You want more. The whip whistles in the air, cutting into his lower back. This time, he stifles his cry. You'll make him scream. With a force, you put the whip across his arse again. He grunts. It is not enough.

Not enough. 

It is too controlled, too tame. The whip, the rules. The words be damned. Blaise watching you. Everything. You don't really need all this. You want to break him, to tear him apart with your bare hands.

You climb on the bed to straddle the back of his thighs.

"Colour?"

"Green." His voice falters.

You strike. Across the plain of his back, across his shoulders. Again and again. The pillow muffles his sobs. You study the back of his head, short blond hair on his nape. The back of his neck exposed. So vulnerable. You raise the whip and... lower it.

"Colour?" You whisper into his ear.

He doesn't reply.

"Colour?" Your teeth hover at the side of his neck.

"Green." He whispers.

You bite, making his whole body jerk.

"Don't _lie_ to me." You soothe the mark of your teeth with your tongue and sit up, picking up the whip.

"Colour?" It snaps at his neck, right over your angry bite mark.

"Red." 

Your heart gives a jolt.

"I can't hear you." You lean down, digging your fingers into his nape, staring closely at his profile from this angle. His eyes are squeezed shut.

"Red," he repeats. "Red." He exhales into the pillow.

Instantly, you release your grip and climb off him to kneel on the bed, suddenly aware of your erection straining the front of your trousers.

Now what? 

Your hands are shaking. 

Are you able to stop? Are you? Do you want to proceed? Does he?

He hasn't used the safeword.

You stop and breathe. Silent, he's breathing, too.

It's probably not about you. Maybe - just maybe - you want red to turn green again.

You glance over your shoulder at Blaise. Motionless, he is watching you from the dark corner. You look back at Malfoy, at his long pale form spread out in front of you. At the angry stripes over his once unblemished skin. Over his firm round arse on display. You reach out and touch it, gliding your palm in a circle over the perfect round globe and _squeeze._

He exhales.

You shuffle forward, straddling his legs again and taking his buttocks in handfuls. You are so hard. Your fingers slide between his arse cheeks, down, down, until they touch his balls.

"Colour?" You whisper.

"Green." He whispers back, bending his knee up, allowing your hand to reach further under his balls, beneath his body, until you finally find his cock trapped against the sheets. 

He is soft. He's hardening in your palm. You release his cock and loom over him.

"Gonna _fuck_ you. _Now."_ You breathe into his ear, unfastening the front of your trousers. "Have you prepared yourself thoroughly?"

"Yes." His arse bucks up. “So thoroughly, Sir.”

"No need to call me 'Sir'." You lube your dick up and guide it between his arse cheeks.

His shoulder-blades strain as he drops his head down on the mattress between his bound arms. You push - sudden and sharp. It knocks the breath out of him. You're not here to be gentle. Gripping him by the hips, you impale him on your dick in one short movement.

 _"Fuck,"_ you swear, and feel him swallow a cry.

"Colour?" You manage, your self-control hanging on a thin thread. You want to be brutal and pound.

"Green," he sobs.

"I'm gonna fuck you." Pulling him up by the hips, you get him to his knees, his arse exposed in the air. "I'm gonna wreck you." You rotate your pelvis, earning his grunt. "You are not allowed to come." You reach under his belly and touch the base of his cock, securing a magical cock-ring around it. He is fully hard. "You won't come until I let you." 

He whimpers.

You drive your cock out and _slam_ it back. Again and again, your pulse pounding in your ears. You don't know how long you'll be able to drag it out. A movement at the edge of your vision makes you turn. In the mirror, you watch yourself with your trousers around your knees, viciously fucking Malfoy, his face pressed into the mattress and his hands tied. And there's Blaise, of course, sprawled in the armchair. Watching, _watching_ everything. You are not shy in front of him; you want him to watch... You want to last for ages. 

Your stop for a moment to reach down and squeeze your cock around the base. When you withdraw your hand, the pressure of the conjured cock-ring makes you sob in delight and frustration. It's even better - and worse. You're not going to come just yet. Malfoy moans beneath you. With each thrust, you pull him back by the hips, impaling him roughly on your aching cock, going on and on, until you can't stand it. _Can’t fucking stand it._ It's still not enough. Malfoy is moaning brokenly into the pillow. In pleasure or pain, you are not sure. You want to torture him longer, harder, _more..._ but your hips jerk, your body losing its relentless rhythm, before you finally reach down to remove the cock-ring. 

And come. Hard. With a shout that shakes you to your very core. Your thrusts slow down to a lazy slide as you finally come to your senses. Malfoy's whole body trembles with exertion; it seems he can barely keep himself upright.

"Do you want to come?" You don't pull out.

In the mirror his dark swollen cock bobs in front of him.

"Yes," he sobs.

"Beg." You slap his arse cheek hard with your palm.

He jerks. "I beg you, Sir. Let me come." 

"No." You slap his arse again, leaving a red angry mark of your splayed palm. "No need to call me 'Sir'."

You fasten the cock-ring around your dick again to prevent the erection from wilting down.

 _"BEG."_ You thrust.

"I beg you..." Malfoy's voice is delirious. "Let me come, _please."_

 _"NO."_ You fuck him with long steady thrusts.

Dropping his head on the mattress, he gives a strangled sob, a whimper, again and again... until you realise he's weeping.

You feel powerful, you feel drunk. You are high. You've never felt like this before: a heady mix of vicious satisfaction and possessiveness is raging through your veins, and also this protective rush, the desire to make it good, to make him come, to give him everything he wants and more, to care - they almost make you howl.

"That's a good boy," you whisper, stroking gently his quivering back. "So good for me." You reach under his body and release him from the ring.

"Come." You touch his swollen cock, stroking it in a steady rhythm to your thrusts. "Come, Draco."

Shaking all over, he gives a pained broken sound and your palm turns slick as his come covers your fingers. His hips jerk as he thrusts into your fist, again and again, tremors gripping his whole body. You keep your thrusts long and slow, working his cock all the while until he finally stops jerking and falls flat on his stomach. Your cock slips out. With a wince you discard the ring, letting the blood flow back, and look down at Malfoy; face down, he lies motionless, faint tremors still shooting through his body. 

Reaching to untie his wrists, you hear his muffled sob. You free his hands and turn him on his back, to be finally able to see his face. His gaze delirious, he stares up at you. Tears brim in his eyes. There's this tortured, broken air about him.

"Draco."

Shivering all over, he turns his face away and curls on his side with his back to you.

You grab a soft blanket folded at the foot of the bed and cover him and hesitate... before slipping underneath next to him.

"You've been so good, Draco." You cup his face and brush messy hair from his forehead and kiss his temple. 

"So good, Draco... so good for me." You rub his bruised wrists and plant kisses all over his face and stroke his hair with gentle fingers, pouring out all the tenderness, all the empathy that drown you, new and unknown, that you had no idea were even there.

His eyes half-closed and glassy, he stares right through you and doesn't resist. You are not sure he's fully aware of his surroundings and suddenly afraid you've done everything wrong, suddenly scared you've broken him.

This is not your thing, not really, you probably shouldn't have agreed to all this.

He is so fragile, so vulnerable, it tears you apart.

A rush of compassion is overwhelming. You stifle the urge to cry. No. It is not your place to cry. You must be strong - to protect and take care of him. You drape yourself over his back under the blanket, gathering him in your arms.

"You are safe, Draco. I am here."

With a sigh, he relaxes into you. In a while, from his even breathing, you realise he's finally fallen asleep.

There's a sound of light footsteps over the carpet. Blaise approaches the bed, unbuttoning his shirt on the way. He drops it on the floor, getting rid of the rest of his clothes. Fully naked, he slips beneath the blanket and lies down, facing Draco. You feel his touch under the blanket as he puts his arm over Draco's waist to rest his hand on your side.

"You've done well," he says, his fingertips drawing circles on your skin.

"I don't know..." You whisper. "I must've fucked it up. Is he alright?"

"He is. He will be. He's safe now. You are both safe." Blaise props himself on his elbow to look at you over Draco's sleeping form. 

His eyes are golden. Something shifts in your chest.

When he leans forward, you rise to meet him, and he claims your lips. His kiss is sweet-feather-light, barely there, but it goes right through your core, and you feel as though he's claiming you, bonding you, tying you to him forever. You welcome him.

He breaks the kiss and withdraws, lying back down, and takes Draco's hand. Without a word, you do the same, pressing yourself to Draco's back. The even rise and fall of his breath against your chest in his sleep, Blaise's palm resting on your side, make you feel safe.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you are aware of Blaise bringing Draco water and helping him to the loo, murmuring all the while some soothing nonsense. When they come back to bed, the three of you tuck yourselves into each other and go back to sleep in a tangle of limbs. 

It finally feels enough.

*

\- 10 -

**D.**

_...One week later..._

"Do you want to kiss him?"

"Yes."

You watch in the mirror as his hands snake around your chest, as he nuzzles the back of your neck. His eyes are closed.

Blaise wants him to make it so good for you. So good. You want it, too. 

Something has changed, shifted between the two of you since that night. The night when he almost wrecked you. Almost.

He did better than you in the end. Floating in aftershocks of everything he'd done to you, feeling his gentle touch and warmth and care, you couldn't move or say anything, but you knew that everything had changed. You were safe.

The balance has been restored.

"Kiss him," Blaise commands.

Harry opens his eyes, touching his chin to your shoulder.

"May I?" He asks, holding your gaze in the mirror.

"Yes." This is different; you've had him many times, in many ways in the past. But this is new. Without a power-play or violence. Just you and him. 

And Blaise, of course.

Always Blaise.

Slowly, Harry moves to stand in front of you, shielding the mirror from your sight.

You shiver.

He cups your face with his palms, bringing your lips together. He is so gentle, as though it's not entirely him. He's never been like _this_ before. His stubble faintly burns your skin, and his glasses get in the way before he tilts your face to the side. His palm travels down the side of your neck to rest in the open collar of your shirt. He pops the top button open.

"May I?"

You nod. Why is he asking? You expect him to rip the shirt off, sending the buttons flying. 

Slowly, he opens another one. 

Your patience stretches thin. You reach down and grab the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it up, pulling it over his head. 

"May I?" You drop it on the floor.

He laughs and does the same to your shirt, wrenching at it when it gets stuck around your wrists. "Fucking buttons." 

He finally slides his palms over your bare chest and down your stomach to dip his fingers under your belt. 

"For fuck’s sake." You reach down and unbuckle it for him.

"Draco..." Blaise laughs. "So impatient."

Harry shoves your trousers and pants down and _finally_ touches you. Raw and smooth, his long strokes so perfectly drive you mad. You realise your eyes are closed and open them to see Harry's bare back in the mirror, his arm moving, straining his shoulder blade. 

Blaise is right behind you. Fully naked. You haven't noticed his approach. His hand slides around your neck, strong delicate fingers rest at the base of your throat. Holding his gaze in the mirror, you brace yourself for the sure touch of his lubed cock. Harry's hand keeps stroking you. You lean your forehead against Harry's and breathe, savouring the sweet torture, the oh-so-familiar shock of Blaise's intrusion, welcoming him, letting him fill you. Until you are whole. Until you are one. Until it's enough. 

Harry leans towards Blaise over your shoulder, and their lips lock. Blaise's arm is firm around your waist. It is not enough. Never enough. You press back into him, driving him deeper, and then buck forward to thrust into Harry's fist. Slowly, Blaise moves, filling you so thoroughly that you whimper, and he's barely begun. A thousand times he took you like this. You still can't get enough. It is never enough. He will never be enough.

Releasing his grip on you, Harry kneels on the carpet, taking your aching cock in his mouth. You brace your hand against the mirror surface and watch as his reflection bobs his head, taking your deeper, _more._ Your fingers twist in his hair, and at Blaise's next maddening _thrust,_ you barely resist from fucking Harry's face. 

_"Ahhh!..."_ Your knees buckle. Blaise grips you around the middle for support.

His fingers slip between yours in Harry's hair while he moves, moves _, moves,_ lighting you up, as he always does, as no one but him is able to, making you glow, keeping you burning until the explosion detonates inside you and you _burst._

In a million golden sparks, you come down Harry's throat, making him choke and gasp and jerk back. Sitting on his heels, he wipes his mouth and looks up at you. You've made his eyes water, but he smiles... and there's a golden flicker in his bright-green irises. In an instant, it is gone.

No. That's not possible. You must have imagined it.

He gets on his feet and takes you in his arms. You feel Blaise slowly pulls out, leaving you aching with emptiness. It is always like this. But only for a moment, until his arms wrap around your shoulders when Harry kisses you. It is almost enough.

*

Blissfully worn-out, you recline against the pillows. But Blaise is not nearly done. 

Not nearly. 

It is always like this. He can last for ages. Go on and on as long as he wants. Do anything.

Watching them, you don't even know anymore if you are jealous or turned on.

There, on the carpet in front of the mirror, Harry is dragging out his maddening ride. His mouth falls open as he arches, leaning back to prop himself on his hands against Blaise's legs.

You've never seen him like this. He's never been like this with you. Never this open, never this vulnerable, he did never give himself so completely. However you might've had him in the past, he never rode you like this. Jealousy raises its head again. For everything he denied you then and is giving to Blaise now. For everything Blaise is offering him. For everything you have to share, everything that once has only been yours and yours alone.

Harry's dark stiff cock is bobbing in front of him. You watch them in the mirror: at his flushed chest and quivering stomach, at Blaise's hands stroking his tense thighs.

Harry makes a strained sound - something between a gasp of surprise and a sob. 

_"Oh, God... Ahhh!"_ His neck arches.

Blaise's hands still on his upper thighs. His eyes intense and golden, he stares unblinking at Harry's face. A pang shoots through your heart, you flinch when Blaise suddenly glances at you. His gaze burns, you can't stand it and can't bring yourself to look away. His neck straining, he bites his lip, and you feel his pleasure simmering in you, filling you up. You want to scream.

 _"Fuck... I can’t... I..."_ Harry on top of him bucks up and grinds down, rotating his pelvis.

"Yes, Harry..." Blaise's voice is commanding but always gentle. Always. "Let go."

"I..." Harry whines, a pained grimace crossing his face. "Help me..."

You bolt out, getting out of bed, and kneel behind him on the carpet astride Blaise's legs. Steadying Harry around his chest, you reach around with your other hand to touch his cock.

"Come, Harry." You stroke him with long, sure movements.

Oh how badly you want him to come, to release him, to set him free.

His movements falter. 

"Come." Your lips brush his ear.

Blaise beneath him arches, his jaw falling open in a silent cry.

_Finally._

Shuddering, Harry cries out and stills.

In the mirror his face is changing, a weird golden pattern of uneven glowing lines appearing on his skin. They go along the side of his neck, under his jaw, over his collarbones, down his abdomen. Not quite reaching his groin, they appear again on his upper thighs.

For a brief moment, he tenses in your arms, going rigid. His hips jerk as his come finally spills over your fingers. Leaning back into you, he whimpers, your gentle hand relentless over his cock.

As you stare at his reflection, understanding finally slams home. The glowing lines disappear as he rides his orgasm out and finally sags into your arms.

This is when your heart drops.

You hold him tight.

You _know._

You probably knew it all along.

There’s no turning back. He belongs to Blaise now. Those are the traces your whip and teeth had left on his skin. The ones Blaise's golden magic had healed. Not without a cost.

And now...

He is bonded, he belongs to Blaise as much as you do. There comes relief and fear. This time, you are not going to lose him. Isn't that what you once craved for? He won't ever leave, he cannot, and neither can you unless Blaise severs the thread. 

Possessiveness claws at your heart, almost making you whimper as you rock him in your arms. You will have to share him now, you can't bear it... you will have to share Blaise.

All this time he's been toying with Harry, pulling, luring him into the trap. Toying with you. Until the trap snapped shut, until there's no escape. He's played you both. You want to rage and weep, your worst fear suddenly coming true. That he’ll find someone else to play with. That he'll leave you.

How long will it take until he'll have gotten tired of you and the thread snaps? Until he throws you away and--

"Draco." Sitting up, Blaise wraps his arms over your shoulders, pulling you to him, trapping Harry between your bodies. 

"I'm not going anywhere." His voice is deep and serious. Dark and golden and warm. He presses his lips to your temple. “You know I am not.”

Harry shifts against your chest, resting his head against Blaise's shoulder.

You don’t know. You don't believe him, but for now, it is enough.

*

_...Sometime later..._

"Yes." Harry bites his lip, wincing at your push. 

Watching his face, you slowly sink all the way in until your groin presses to the back of his thighs.

You close your eyes, bracing yourself on your elbows at both sides of Harry's head in anticipation of Blaise's touch. He shifts behind you, guiding his cock into your body... _Oh..._

You moan into Harry's shoulder. Blaise is big, no matter how many times you did this, you're still not used to it. The pain of his intrusion always makes you gasp, blending into a sweet ache as he pushes, sliding deeper until you almost can't bear it.

Harry puts his palm on your chest.

"Kiss me." Blaise's words hot in your ear, he finally stills.

You turn your head to capture his lips. Covering your hand with his, he presses into Harry's palm with the other one.

"When you're ready, Draco."

Oh, you are so ready.

You move back and forth between them. It's so intense you might die. Harry's body beneath, his heat encompassing you, and Blaise behind you, filling you to the brim.

You thrust, and Blaise thrusts, making the three of you gasp. Trapped between your bodies, Harry's cock drags against your skin. You lean down to kiss him and notice a spark of gold in his eyes.

"Your eyes," he whispers, "they're golden."

You smile. Of course, they are. 

Blaise bites your shoulder, his thrusts sending sparks inside you, making your pleasure simmer and build. Reaching for his cock, Harry moans.

"Come." Blaise's thought whispers inside your head. You know, Harry hears it, too. "I want you both to come."

He thrusts, and as you thrust Harry arches... It blooms inside you until you explode, pulsing deep into Harry's body. He clenches around you, hanging on the precipice. The air shifts, foretelling Blaise's ecstasy... and then it crashes down. Harry's cry makes you shudder and convulse again, bringing you higher and higher, where Blaise is waiting, always waiting. Always there.

But never enough.

_~ The End ~_

**_I_ _am on Tumblr:_ _[big-draco-energy](https://big-draco-energy.tumblr.com) _ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You are very welcome to share your thoughts in comments. <3


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